Banishment
by WriteOnForever
Summary: Mai learns of Zuko's banishment.


Disclaimer: All rights to those who own this.

Banishment

"Zuko's been banished."

Azula says it with her usual detached coolness, as though she is speaking of her latest firebending accomplishment. No longer fooled by her cruel jokes, Mai does not even glance from the weapons she is polishing.

"I said, Zuko's been banished." The princess's shadow falls over the girl, and her foot kicks at her pile of newly-cleaned throwing stars. "And this is the only reaction? Hmm, you're even more frigid than I thought."

"Do you think I believe you?" Mai inquires softly. "I'm not Ty Lee, you know."

"My dear Mai, do you think I'm joking? Even _I_ couldn't imagine something so tragic as this. Actually, I'm surprised you have yet to hear of it. Agni Kais are so rare now, especially among members of the royal family, that I would have thought this news would have spread."

Even though Mai keeps her attention trained on her task, she's starting to get nervous; Azula has little patience while playing with her victims, so she would have moved onto another tactic by now if she was lying. "Alright, I'll amuse you," she states dryly, wondering if the prodigy can hear the slight tremble behind her words. "Tell me your little story."

"Zuko embarrassed Father-again-and Father finally put him in his place. It was hard to watch, Zuko on his knees, gravelling for mercy. Hard, but not impossible."

For the first time, Mai focuses on her friend; she's wearing a sadistic smile, and a fiery pleasure burns in her eyes. "'You will learn respect, and suffering shall be your teacher,'" she proclaims, voice deeper and harsher in an imitation of Ozai, and there is no doubting she is his daughter. Reverting to her normal tone, she continues, "Zuko's whole left eye is burned. I saw it, before they put on the bandage; oozing and red and swollen, little patches of heat bubbles blistering across his eyelid. They say his eye will never be the same. It could takes months to heal. And even when it does, it will be the ugliest scar."

Mai stares beyond Azula, into the pale blue sky so peaceful and unbreakable and beyond her reach. "This isn't a joke, is it?"

"No. I am, however, flattered to know you think that highly of me."

"When does he leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Alright." Mai stands despite a sudden weakness in her knees, speaks despite a sudden tightness in her throat. "When can I see him?"

Azula sighs, a long, insufferable sigh. "Do you want to do this to yourself, Mai? Send off a boy who will never return?"

The words seem to steal the breath right out of her body. "He's been banished for life?"

"He might as well be. Even if he wasn't, there is no chance he would survive. He's weak, after all."

She's seeking a reaction, but Mai won't give her that. "I'm going to see him."

No one else would have perceived the miniscule twitch of Azula's upper lip, but Mai had been her friend for long enough to recognize the involuntary sign of her displeasure, when she fails to elicit a response. "He's in the palace Infirmary."

Gathering her weapons, she leaves without another word or a backwards glance. Only when she is sure that she is out of Azula's sight does she embed her nails into the bark of the nearest tree, splinters of wood pressing and digging into the tender flesh beneath her nail, and she welcomes the pain; it means she can feel something other than this throbbing, pulsating ache, as though someone had harvested her organs and left her an empty shell.

No one pays her much attention when she enters the palace, and all she receives from the guard stationed outside the medical room is a look of pity and a whispered, "He is not well."

Fighting every urge to impale him, she steps inside, silent, afraid to disturb whatever it is that she will find.

Zuko is staring out the only window, arms pinned to his sides, back perfectly erect, a soldier lost at sea searching for any bit of welcoming land. She wonders how long he's been searching, how long he'll keep searching.

The more she observes him, the stronger the ache becomes, and when she can no longer bear it, she says, "Zuko."

Maybe she should shout it, paint his name with tears, but it comes out like it has every time she has said it over the past ten years, like nothing is out of the ordinary.

He doesn't turn around. "I don't want you to see me."

"Well, I want to," she protests, approaching him.

"No, Mai, please," he whispers, voice wavering. "Please, don't do this."

"I want to see you," she insists, coming to his right side. It's now that she notices his head has been shaved saved for his ponytail. Another mark of his dishonor. "Zuko, don't do this. It's _me_."

"And that's exactly why I don't want you to see me."

She places a hand on his shoulder. "I don't care."

He shakes her off. "I do."

Even though he has been burned, humiliated, banished, she won't stand for that. She steps between him and the horizon, grips his shoulders so he can't get away, and stares at his face.

The medical wrapping extends from the bridge of his nose to beyond his ear, from right where his eyebrow used to be down to the middle of his cheek. It was initially white, she assumes, but it is now stained with splotches of dull red. The bandage, though, is far less concerning than his good eye. Once glimmering brightly, the sun at its peak on a summer day, it has become dull, a copper coin traded among one too many pairs of dirty hands.

"Happy?" he asks, looking away.

She wants to respond; she _should _respond. All she can manage is, "What happened?"

"I dishonored my father."

"Don't give me that, Zuko," she protests. "Tell me what really happened."

"I spoke out of turn. A general proposed sacrificing an entire division of new recruits, and I objected. For my outburst, I was challenged to an Agni Kai, which I accepted." He pauses, and tears brim but do not fall. "I did not know I would fight my father. I refused to attack. He took that as weakness."

"You didn't deserve this." It's almost inaudible, barely more than a thought.

"I did," he says. "This is a rightful punishment for my actions."

"Your actions? Saving an entire division is heroic."

"It was not my place to speak."

She hates it when he does this, bows to his father's warped notions of honor and glory and strength, but she won't fight him on it, not this time. Instead, she asks, "How long is your banishment?"

"To recapture my honor, and to restore my rightful place on the thrown, I must capture the Avatar."

It's a suicide mission. A wild goose chase. The Avatar has been missing for the past hundred years, and finding him is an impossible, foolish task.

But he already knows all this, so there is no point in reminding him.

"You have a crew?"

"Uncle Iroh. Former shipmen. They are all experienced."

"So you're in good hands."

"Yes."

There's so much left to say but no words to say them. Mai's never been one for talking, anyway.

She places her hand on his cheek, the left one, so her fingers are just barely brushing the bandage, and gently tilts his head toward hers.

They've kissed before, in the palace garden and empty corridors, but those had been quick, hesitant, uncertain. This one is bursting with passion and longing and regret and sorrow, every word and thought that needs to be expressed.

When they pull away, Mai whispers, "Remember that when you're gone. You have someone waiting for you."

"How could I forget?" he muses softly, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Do you want me to come tomorrow?"

"No. That...that's alright. We leave early, before sunrise."

She nods. "This is good-bye then."

"This is good-bye."

They stare at one another for a few moments, etch every detail of their first love into their memories. Perhaps they should say something else, _farewell_ or _until we meet again_, because good-bye sounds so final. Growing up during a war has aged them beyond their years, though, and they won't cling to the childish hope that his return is definite.

Finally, Mai drags herself away. Every step hurts. When she reaches the lawns, the sunlight makes her eyes burn.

On the edge of her property, far from her mother's concerned looks, she practices her weapons. The first throw, she nicks her finger, something that hasn't happened since she was a beginner. Blood seeps to the surface and drips slowly toward the earth.

She can't help but wonder if his will do the same.


End file.
